


To Guard it Well

by CopperBreeches



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBreeches/pseuds/CopperBreeches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has two names to guard; their own and the name that appears on their wrist, the name of their soul mate. John guards his own name well but when the name 'William' appears on his wrist he's surprised. He protects the name well but he can't help but wonder who it belongs to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Guard it Well

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [leopardwrites](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leopardwrites/pseuds/leopardwrites) for support and the encouragement that got me to post this. Thanks also to [staticsilhouette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/staticsilhouette/pseuds/staticsilhouette) for encouraging and feedback-ing.

Names have always been important to humans. A way to define us both to ourselves and others. A way of identifying, a way of recognising oneself. Powerful things are names, no wonder some cultures believed they had a magic to them. They were you, the only part of you that could be spoken by others, seen by them, used by them. 

When John was a child his grandmother would tell him that he ever met a fairy he was never to tell them his name. When John asked why his grandmother said the fairy might steal it and with it, him, away to a far off land. He was the keeper of his name and he had to guard it, to keep it safe. 

John guarded his name fiercely. He didn’t mind when people called him Johnny, they were just making a personal addition to his name. It didn't give them ownership over him. He was still John, still spoke his name to define himself. 

When he was eleven he became guardian of another name. For whilst each person had their own name they were also gifted another. The name of their soul mate. John's own name would one day find itself a literal part of another person, the same person who now was a bit of John. 

Some theorists felt that the names that appeared in black ink on a person’s wrist between the ages of ten and twenty were their own 'true' names, but John didn't believe that. He was John Watson. He knew his name belonged to him; he felt it. The idea of not being John Watson was inconceivable. He was in that name as much as the letters and sounds words; his essence was John. 

Where then did that leave the William marked on his wrist?

At first he had been embarrassed, he had always thought it would be a girl's name, like Mary. John was a common name so he assumed his soul mate would share that with him. William was not a rare name but it was a boy's name and John had never expected that. 

Harry of course liked having the name Clara on her wrist but then she'd always known her soul mate was female. Although the fact that Clara bore the name 'Harri' didn't seem to matter as the writing was close enough. 

 

For the next few years John grew nervous of every William he met, and he did meet a few. One even had the name John on his wrist but the handwriting was quite different to John's relief. He didn't really know what he would have said if it had turned out they were a match. 

When he joined the army John found himself meeting the acquaintance of a Sergeant William Murray.

“Don’t panic, mate,” he said when he caught sight of John's look. “I'm a Bill, not William. The lads will tell you that and,” he held up his uncovered wrist, “you really don't look like a Laura to me.”

John was relieved as the last thing he wanted was to find himself meeting his soul mate in the army where things were difficult enough. John didn't fancy having met his soul mate in a war zone and seeing him blown up. And he knew it happened, he'd heard the stories.

Still maybe because John bore Bill's 'official' name on his wrist they got on very well. They looked out for each other on and off duty. Sometimes, a bit drunk and giddy, John would call Bill, 'William'. His friend would reply, “You know, even after had a few pints you still don't look like a Laura.”

Luckily their bond held through into Afghanistan where Bill hauled a wounded John back to cover. 

“Couldn't let someone with my name on his wrist die, could I?” Bill said in the field hospital later. “Wouldn't be good for my ego.”

“Laura's going to love you,” John replied as they prepared to ship him out. “Keep yourself safe for her.”

“And you let me know when you meet your William,” Bill replied. 

“I will,” John said. He'd barely looked at his wrist whilst out in Afghanistan, the name hidden under a wristband to avoid being a distraction. Now having come so close to death himself John wondered if his William was already dead. 

 

Then John Watson ended up in London and ended up meeting Sherlock Holmes.

If John had been one to believe in fate he would have believed fate had brought him to Sherlock. The chance meeting with Stamford, mentioning needing a flatmate, it seemed almost like divine intervention dragging John out the loneliness he'd had since returning. It was as near to perfect as it could be. 

After their first night together, even being abandoned and dragged halfway across London, John felt a bond with Sherlock. Sherlock was brilliant and fascinating and brought excitement. The only problem John could see was that Sherlock was a very different name to William.

He had brought up the soul name issue when they’d been sitting in Angelo's waiting rot eh killer.

“So, do you have a soul mate?” John asked.

“I have a name on my wrist, yes,” Sherlock replied. It was covered with a thick, leather, expensive looking band. A contrast to the plain cloth band John wore. 

“And you haven't met them?”

“No.”

“You have met people with that name?”

“Yes, a lot of them.”

“But you're unattached like me?”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock had replied. “Like you. Now we've established that we can go back to keeping an eye out for our murderer.”

 

Months went by, cases came and went, and John never ceased to be amazed by Sherlock. There were times when Sherlock annoyed him, drove him mad with experiments or thoughtlessness, but there were many more when Sherlock made him laugh, or think or smile, or simply be amazed. 

Each night John found himself staring at his wrist and willing the name to change to Sherlock but it didn't. It remained stubbornly William. The handwriting though, it looked so like Sherlock's John would swear it was his. But of course it couldn't be, Sherlock was Sherlock not William.

John was falling in love with a person whose name he had no right to guard. 

 

It was only after the Andrew West case when Mycroft asked to see John’s notes that something changed. 

“This is your handwriting,” Mycroft mused.

“Yes.”

“Tell me, has Sherlock ever shown you his wrist?”

“Why would he do that?” John asked. Yes, there was a little part of him that hoped Sherlock bore his name. If John's name was guarded by Sherlock he could live with the disappointment of his William. 

“Ah, so he hasn't. And he hasn't seen yours?” 

“No,” John said.

“Let me see now.”

John should have refused. Mycroft might not be a fairy but there was plenty he could do with names. Showing Mycroft might mean the end of all his hope. 

“I just need to confirm something,” Mycroft said. “Or perhaps you would feel better if I guessed the name, on your wrist?”

“How could you guess it?” John asked. 

Mycroft leaned forward from where he lent against his desk. “I know the name of your wrist is William,” he said. 

“How did you..? You can't have known that,” John protested. 

“Show me.”

The power of the name already lost John uncovered his wrist, slightly embarrassed by his cheap and basic band, and held it out. 

“A match,” Mycroft said. 

“A match with who?” John asked. Perhaps Mycroft had seen John's writing on the wrist of some civil servant. 

“To William Sherlock Holmes,” Mycroft said. 

John's heart threatened to break his ribcage. “Sherlock’s first name is William?” he asked. 

“Yes. Legally that's his name but he felt William was too boring. You see he has a very common name on is wrist and he thought if he went by William then he would have trouble finding his soul mate, he still had a wish to find him then. He told everyone to only ever call him Sherlock.”

John swallowed. “When did he do that?” he asked. 

“When he was seven years old,” Mycroft said. “After the name would have appeared on your wrist.”

John looked his his wrist. William was Sherlock before he was seven. The name he had borne then was the name John had been given to guard. “I’ve never heard of that happening,” he said, his voice unsteady as hope flared. He would never see Sherlock as a William but perhaps that didn't matter. John guarded a piece of Sherlock that was young and innocent. 

“Oh it happens more often than you think,” Mycroft replied. “It took me months to persuade Greg that my given name was Richard.”

“You?” John couldn't picture Mycroft as anything mundane as a Richard, just as he couldn't picture Sherlock as anything as mundane as a William.

Mycroft smiled. “Go home, John, and show Sherlock your wrist. Remind him that Mummy always called him William.”

 

John was numb as he walked up the stairs to 221B. He saw Sherlock sitting in the chair by the fire, absently plucking his violin. “John,” he said. “I see you survived talking to my brother.”

“Yes,” John said. “Your brother.” He paused. “Richard Mycroft Holmes.”

“He told you?” Sherlock looked surprised. “Why?”

“Because William Sherlock Holmes I've got your bloody first name on my wrist and I didn't even know it was you.” John pulled back his sleeve and practically ripped his wrist band off. Feeling more exposed than he ever had been in Sherlock's presence he held out his wrist and hoped. 

With more caution than John had expected Sherlock came over and read it. “Oh,” he said. “I didn't think you'd have that one.”

Fascinated John watched as Sherlock held out his own wrist and undid the band. There on his wrist, in John's doctor's scrawl was his name. John.

“Why didn't you tell me?” John asked.

“It was obvious from the way you reacted you couldn't have my name on your wrist,” Sherlock said. 

“Mycroft said it was because you decided to be Sherlock after it appeared,” John said. “And that's my handwriting.” 

“I didn't realise,” Sherlock said, reaching forward to lightly trace the lettering on John's wrist. “This name,” he murmured. “Isn't me.”

“I know,” John said, leaning to whisper in Sherlock's ear. “You're Sherlock Holmes, you will always be Sherlock Holmes. I just have to look after two names for you not one.”

Sherlock didn't reply in words but cupped John's cheek and kissed him. 

Some people are blessed with two names; one of their own and one to guard and John counted himself doubly blessed that he was to guard the Sherlock of childhood and the Sherlock of the present. No fairy would ever steal William Sherlock Holmes from his John. For John always had guarded names well.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea that Sherlock Holmes had a first name of William is not my own. I think William Baring-Gould was the originator (I was trying to find a link to corroborate this but have failed). The name William Sherlock Scott Holmes also appears in the Homes family part of the Wold Newton genealogy based on the writings of Philip José Farmer (see: [this link](http://sherlockholmes.wikia.com/wiki/Holmesian_Speculation#The_Holmes_family_and_the_Wold_Newton_family). 
> 
> The idea that Mycroft might have a normal first name was extrapolated by me and Richard is one of the names that crops up in the Holmes family's Wold Newton genealogy.


End file.
